"I don't quite understand—" Jean came to another break, and Mr. Trevelyan knew that she was sorely tried. "I can't see—Being dead doesn't make a man right in every single thing he ever did and said!"
"Not precisely!" with a grim smile at the mode of expression. "It only lends more charity to our judgments."
"But if I were Evelyn, I don't think I could make myself feel and believe what I didn't really feel and believe, only because I wanted to agree with him."
"You could not!"
"If she didn't agree with him before, I don't see how she can now."
"She can make a Pope of his memory, and submit her own judgment to his. I doubt if she goes so far in reality. It is more emotional than logical."
Jean stood, pale and troubled, gazing into the fire, unaware how closely she was herself being studied.
"If Mrs. Villiers were over fifty, she might keep on in the same line for the rest of her life; get into her husband's groove, and remain there persistently, out of respect to him. A good many women are capable of such devotion. But only twenty-five!—No, she is too young. Have patience, Jean. She will rally to her true self by-and-by, and you will not lose your friend."
Jean's eyes were suffused suddenly.
"There is something a little morbid in all this. She will come out of it—modified, perhaps, but not a mere copy of her husband. No need to worry yourself. She will fight through it, and you too."